Fabricated Humanity
by ChaserVine76
Summary: Marla McGivers spent far too many hours amidst busy nothings and practically lunged when an offer to work for Section 31 fell into her lap. Initially blinded by her determination to progress her career and the desire to make a difference, Marla's suspicions begin to manifest with each tempestuous encounter with a fellow officer, John Harrison . AU. Eventual romance.
1. Chapter 1

_Welcome! Here lies the tale of one Dr. Marla McGivers. This story will live within a slight AU, that will become more prevalent as the plot progresses. I'm a lover of TOS, TNG, and the reboot and wanted to put my own twist on the universe. All reviews and constructive criticism welcomed! _

_Disclaimer: I own nothing but original characters and plot. _

_**"Do not tell secrets to those whose faith and silence you have not already tested" ~ Queen Elizabeth I** _

**_Preface_**

Your mission is as follows: Drive twenty minutes west of Hartford CT. After exactly 20 minutes look to your left. Go down the nameless dirt road. Just about another five minute drive or so, passed the thriving pines and overgrown fields of brown grass, you will find a country house. The historical house is masterfully built with lovely chocolate colored wood, and mint green painted front door and windowsills. Each window is neighbor to a flower bed, and come spring you might be lucky enough to see the vibrant little wildflowers that have chosen this as their home.

Upon entering the house through the mint front door, the facade of charm and comfort will dissipate.

You will inevitably feel the burden of ghosts.

This is not your misfortune but that of the house, which will be relatively clean and cozy with evidence of repeated renovations. Renovations; desperate attempts to scrub the house raw until it could be rid of the lingering dwellers of the past. You will walk through the living room and into the over used kitchen with the disconcerting presence upon your back. But you must move forward still, into the library.

This is your destination.

This small room will be blanketed in sunlight with a soundtrack of melodic birds from just outside and a perfume of dust and aging leather.

Books.

These are your mission. Well, one of them is.

There will be many. Each of the four walls that surround you is floor to ceiling with bookcases so plump with the old books that I am certain you will worry that the cases will give way to a tidal wave at any moment.

I would apologize for the disarray, however I am not the one responsible for the mess. There are just too many books. But only one is your mission.

Which to possibly choose?

You will know. You will find it.

For this book is different from the rest.

A simple journal amidst grand classics, encyclopedias, and law books.

Take in the sight of it and be gentle. It is the last of it's publication after all.

This book holds a secret within it's beloved pages. A name. A story.

Now the story. Memorize it, breathe is in as if it is your last chance for oxygen before a watery plunge.

Turn once you are finished, walk back through the kitchen, into the living room where embers are still glowing blood orange in the fire place. I hope you know how to stoke a fire.

Feed the secret to the growing flames. See to it that the pages burn but do not dwell to watch them for long.

Leave swiftly without a second glance, for a ghost might look back at you, in judgement of your actions.

It would be too difficult to explain your orders to a hapless ghost.

I will spare you that unpleasantness.

**Act One: Part 1**

"Mother fucker." Darcy Carnegie leaned against the granite wall, arms crossed and electronic cigarette hanging out of her pursed lips. Darcy's platinum blonde hair, course from countless dyeing 'rejuvenations', was tied in a tired bun. The drooping hair style accompanied her beige pant suit, which was wrinkled from over use and lack of ironing, nicely. She looked as disheveled as she sounded. "I can't believe he's putting me through this." Darcy's perfectly reformed nostrils flared as she took another puff before thrusting her turquoise cigarette toward the redheaded woman beside her. "Want one?"

The companion ignored the offer of the ghastly instrument of vapor. Their days of embracing sisterhood had long passed. Their mother once went through a phase of dressing them identically despite their awkward height difference. At the time it seemed only natural to experience everything as if they were one individual. Now the idea seemed utterly preposterous.

"Just keep the profanity in the hallway."

"I know that Marla," spat Darcy after a few seconds of puffing away. Marla winced only slightly at her sister's harshness. There was a silence between the women. A minute? Two? Five even? Neither could keep the time. Such an endeavor could not be accomplished in such a place, or with such an emanate fate creeping ever toward them. "Do you think I'm a shit mother?" The elder sister finally broke the silence, unable to bare her own thoughts any longer.

"Please stop letting them into your head." Marla closed her eyes, pure exasperation clouding her own head. "We've talked about this."

"Why won't you just answer the question?"

"I'm too tired for this Darcy-"

"Is there a reason you're not answering?" Darcy put her cigarette down, allowing a tiny white cloud to blast into her sister's face.

"I'm tired."

"So you agree with Jaimie." Darcy's dark green eyes darted across Marla's exhausted expression. Marla sighed softly deciding she had no other choice but to tread lightly. It took a second or two but Marla was indeed able to muster up the strength to give her sister a simple smile.

"No. I don't think you're a 'shit mother'." Marla watched cautiously as the older woman computed her response and looked away with satisfaction. Marla frowned once more, pushed her thick auburn locks behind her ears and braced herself. "However this is not my decision."

"But at least I know that your statement was a good one." Darcy shook her shoulders, puffing out her well endowed chest like a robin in spring.

"You know I can't talk about that."

"I wish you would just have the balls to tell me." Darcy chuckled at herself, bringing Marla to stone silence.

Marla remained mute as they were finally approached by someone other than their own thoughts. She remained silent as they received the verdict.

Marla was silent as she dragged her sister out of the building, hands wrapped tightly to Darcy's waist as her insults mixed with that of her ex-husband Jaime's in toxic harmony.

A familiar yet unwelcome tingle spread beneath Marla's fair freckled skin as she sat beside her wailing sister in the cab. The walls were starting to crumble. Darcy sang out cries of profanity Marla had never even heard. Marla mentally sang her own song of profanity as she cast her hazel eyes on the snowy road.

She cursed the sluggish traffic, her older sister's foolishly embarrassing behavior, and herself for getting involved in the first place.

Marla was still silent when they reached Darcy's lavish Brooklyn apartment complex. By then Darcy's voice was gravely and Marla's ears rang. The apartment had not changed in the slightest since their departure that morning, yet the rooms felt entirely unfamiliar to Marla. Darcy disappeared into her room and slammed the door, leaving Marla alone with her knotted thoughts and stomach.

Marla sat on the edge of one of many uncomfortable pastel leather chairs in the living area. Once she had walked through the threshold of this very apartment with wide eyes and sang praise for her sister's modern, pristine, orderly taste. These rooms, once envied and admired for their glossy minimalism, now felt hollow and cold. This was as doomed of sustaining life as the permafrost incrusted tundra. Marla felt the tingle once more as her discomfort grew. No wonder her precious niece never felt quite welcome here.

Rosie, with her sweet smile and charming intuition that surpassed her four years of life. Her little face flashed into Marla's mind and dissipated. Such a kind little creature did not belong in this place. Not even in thought.

Marla was suddenly overwhelmed by the need to get as far away as humanly possible.

But Darcy. Oh her damn sister.

She ground her teeth and slid her sweaty palms along her thighs, immobilized by the prickling sensations that washed over her as wave after wave of 'what-ifs'. Sleep was her only escape, but insomnia was a sworn enemy. Long had she battled the swirling depths of the night, rarely arising victorious.

Marla slid back against the solid chair, kicked off her boots, and brought her legs into a crossed position. After a moment of rummaging through her satchel she pulled out her PADD. She ran her tongue across her teeth at the sight of how low her battery was, but typed in her code just the same. She was desperate to find something, anything, that could lead her mind on a hiatus from the current situation.

Flashing red at the very top of her inbox was her distraction. A distraction so odd in origin and unfathomable in subject that Marla found herself laughing for the first time that day.

Wisterias. Lovely soft lavender blooms cascaded in abundance from the rafters above. A week had passed since her departure from the bustle and drama of New York. One week since she had received the audacious message. Now she sat in the largest waiting room she had ever seen, devoid of any color other than sky blue. The walls, some 12 feet high, the stone floor, the cluster of tweed furniture, even the view from the rectangle sky light above, all identical pale blue.

All but the wisterias.

Echoing footsteps brought Marla's attention to the hallway just across from her. She stood at attention when the footsteps presented their owner. She straightened her back, steadying herself in attempt to mask her jetlag. The female before her looked less than thrilled to be there. A Commander, the woman was about a half foot taller than Marla with her brunette hair cut into a perfect pixie style. She could not have been more than 30 but her tense stance and practically invasive gaze gave her a power presence rarely seen in someone so young.

"Dr. McGivers?" The Commander said in a distinctly stern tone.

"Yes."

"Follow me." Twisting on her heel the Commander made her way out of the waiting room at an alarming speed. Marla did as she was told. As she followed the Commander down the hallway, she did her best to straighten her gray uniform. In honesty she had always felt utterly ridiculous in her dress uniform. Her red ringlets bounced free from her bun and into her face as she tried to keep up with the taller woman's strides. Just as quickly as they began their journey, the Commander halted, causing Marla to stumble to avoid collision.

"Wait here." Just as mechanically as she gave orders, the Commander took out her PADD, typed for a few seconds, and approached the door to the right of them. With an echoing click the Commander pushed against the door, entered the room, and allowed the door to close slowly with Marla craning her neck for a curious glance into the mystery room. Nothing but blue. The Commander emerged after a beat and this time left the door open for Marla to enter.

Marla was careful to enter with staged confidence, for her nerves were taking the helm. An office; identical in size and color as the waiting room, only distinguishing itself with a massive gray desk and chair and a painting of the Federation Symbol hung on the back wall.

"Dr. McGivers," a male voice announced Marla before she could even take a single breath. "Come sit down."

Marla stopped dead in her tracks at the sight of the man before her. She turned to exchange a glance with the Commander, but the door had already closed, leaving her alone with her gaping jaw, fluttering heart beat, and highest ranking leader. Admiral Marcus sat at his enormous desk, fiddling with files and never taking his eyes to meet hers. She followed orders and sat across from him and waited in the silence as he finished his reading.

"Ha!" The outburst caused Marla to jump. Marcus brought his lips to a grand grin and lounged back in his chair to look at her. She smiled uncomfortably and watched him as he brought both of his index fingers to point at his desk. He cleared his throat and read from the file "'My three years in the Terra Federation Archives taught me a great deal about myself and the person that I strive to be.'" _Shit, _she thought in frozen horror. He rolled his eyes but continued. "'I've worked with some talented intellectuals…'blah blah blah-oh hear we go'…Despite all I might have learned here I can not help but feel that I have waisted three years of my time, in a prison where my coworkers are ever parasitic, my brain unstimulated to the point of feeling on the brink of insanity, and if I had the iron fist to do so I'd taser myself awake from this damn nightmare and ride a ship into a fucking black hole.'" He stopped, nodded his head as if in agreement, and pointed to the reading. "Got anything else to say?"

"I…" Marla could hardly breath, in fact she wasn't and her hands shook despite her tightly clenched fists."I think…some of that…See my-"

"Oh relax Doctor." Marcus smiled and brought himself to the edge of his seat. "Its nice to know someone can be honest in their yearly log."

"I didn't know anyone actually read those."

"No one does. Unless an occasion presents itself." He swiped the file away and creased his brow. "You wrote your dissertation on the battle strategies of the 5 greatest military leaders in earth history." Not entirely sure of how to respond Marla chuckled nervously and nodded in relief, still rattled from the introduction and shift in subject.

"Yes I did sir."

"To which you received wide spread criticism in the intellectual community." Marcus brought his right hand to his chin, a curious expression on his face. "Why do you think it was so badly received?"

"Well," Marla paused to collect herself. "Irrelevancy was the common criticism."

"Irrelevancy?" Marcus crooked a brow.

"Earth has been at peace for over 100 years sir. Despite the ever present importance for historical understanding, what I chose to study was not considered essential to that understanding." Marla set her jaw. "The overall opinion is that what I specialize in is no longer a modern concern."

"Do you agree with that opinion." The question threw her. Within the time of a blink Marcus' relaxed stance had melted. He was studying her now, leaving her feeling exposed. He was looking for an answer. Which one?

"No." Her voice was still and a wave of relief ran over her as Marcus gave another smile. "History isn't a straight line. Destruction and creation are fundamental rules of the universe."

"We've already seen it happen."

"Excuse me?"

"Destruction." The Admiral moved his fingers across the table, allowing a hologram of a planet to float in between them. Marla looked to the planet and then back to Marcus. Neither needed to say it's name.

Vulcan.

"History will repeat itself, or so they like to say?"

"To believe that conflict is nonexistent is ideal, but not necessarily realistic."

"Ah," Marcus grinned broadly and shook a finger to allow the extinct planet to disappear. "I knew I would like you." Marcus rose from his chair, waving a hand to keep her seated, and moved a small pile of papers toward Marla. "Doctor McGivers, I would like to offer you a position. See, I am in need of a specialist, a historian, a strategist. Someone who can understand the underbelly of our expanding universe." Marcus pointed to the PADD in front of her and continued before she could interject. "Read the papers. Sleep on it if you'd like. But I can assure you," his voice inflected to almost pompous proportion. "the position will be rewarding, great pay, benefits, the works. Best of all, you won't have to worry about under stimulation or having to taser yourself into a black hole."

Marla stared down at the PADD. "I'm not entirely sure I'm qualified for this line of work."

"No one is 'qualified' when they are offered a position that doesn't exist."

"I uh. I really don't understand sir." Marla kept her eyes on the PADD, scanning the information with jumbled understanding.

"I'm not going to force you into anything you haven't read over first." Her commanding officer bowed his head in respect. "You read over that now and I'll give you, oh lets say 5 days to think about it."

"Thank you," was the only response that felt proper.

"This is a wonderful opportunity Doctor McGivers and I think it will be the beginning of a truly seamless career. Just gotta take that plunge sometimes." She had no response as he gestured to the PADD and left her to read the offer.

She didn't need 5 days to think it over. No good nights sleep could change her immediate instinct.

She signed the dotted line without a single speck of remorse or reservation.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who has followed/favorited/or reviewed so far! I really appreciate it and hope you will continue to enjoy! This chapter was a little more difficult than the first as I'm anxious to get to certain events!  
I apologize for any technical mistakes. This story is Un-Beta'd **

**Thanks!**

_**Disclaimer: **_**I own nothing but my own characters, plot line, and AU elements. **

_"Life seems but a quick succession of busy nothings."_

_~ Jane Austen_

Act one: Part 2

Many a child has dreamt of the grand adventures of Starfleet. Journeys that transcend every law humans' have thought unquestionable, that brought only the best officers to the edge of the universe and shattered their very reality of existence. Humans' had long played an essential role in the extraordinary missions of the Federation.

Marla was on a mission. One so imperative to the Federation, she alone remained responsible. Tongue pushing against the top of her mouth, Marla pressed the last of the buttons on the contraption. The tone that emerged from the machine was grander than any orchestral masterpiece to her ears, the aroma a heavenly cologne of the gods, and the steam a warm beckon. "Hello my love."

"Again?" Marla's companion swung her robust legs upon the table and riffled through the pages of her magazine. Marla brought her hand curtly between herself and her companion as she lifted her massive blue and black mug from the machine. She brought her mug to her lips, closed her eyes, and took a sip of reverie. "Oh for God's sakes!"

"Coffee. Then speak Greta." Marla instructed and sat down across from her co-worker. Greta's round cheeks rippled the skin beneath her seamlessly outlined lined eyes.

"You'll drag that damn machine with you into the cosmos." Greta's singsong Yorkshire accent held little magic. Each word teetered between snark and mirth, proving more laborious than whimsical that morning. Marla closed to eyes and continued to inhale her divine concoction.

"If you think I'd subject myself to replicator coffee…."

"Creature comforts aren't exactly the Federation's number one priority."

"If they don't want me to massacre everyone in my wake they better sort that out." She grinned as Greta's deep chuckle soothed the stale morning air. "What's new this week?" Marla asked gesturing to the fashion magazine, to which she received an incredulous look from Greta. "What?"

"You don't give two shits."

"No but you'll tell me anyway." The historian set her coffee against her torso, with one hand to steady it, and mirrored Greta with both legs atop the table, head tilted back.

"Professional attire: Dress suits out. Jump suits in."

Marla tilted her head to the side, her red curls threatening to break free from her relaxed braid. "Well," she rolled her eyes and gestured to two of them, both clad in generic black uniforms. "Black is always in."

"Not always." Greta sighed and tugged at her uniform smugly. "They say it masks your true form."

"The ominous 'they'!"

"How many hours are you working this week?" They'd been sitting in comfortable isolation for a few minutes. The veer from serenity caught Marla off guard. She twisted in her seat, bringing her feet back to the ground and looking to the newcomer beside them.

"Kassim! You're looking very dashing today!" Greta ignored Kassim's question and twisted her finger toward the well groomed man before them. Kassim, one of the rare attractive members of Section 31. 34 years old. Tall, dark, handsome, and by all the fates be damn- entirely married. Going on 7 happy years. The Lebanese Doctor was famous among his constituents for his esteemed talent to remain wholly pleasant. No matter the day or circumstance.

"Right back at you Greta," Kassim complimented through his usual grin.

"I made a pot of coffee."

"Why do you think I'm here? I could smell it from the lab." Kassim tapped the steaming pot and pressed his hand to his heart with gratitude. "You are a godsend."

"Hardly. Merely a crazed caffeine addict." Marla pulled another chair to their usual table. The three sat in a perfect triangle, each eager to calm themselves with each others company.

"Almost 55 hours by the way," Marla finally answered Kassim's question.

"I'm just barely below 60," admitted Kassim with a faraway glaze over his eyes.

"Same here." Greta placed her magazine to the table with a pathetic thud "I'm starting to have nightmares you know."

"Oh God, about what?"

"Equations!" Greta threw her arms in the air aggressively. "Some people, normal people have nightmares of I don't know," she cocked her head curtly in thought. "Drownin. Fallin off a cliff. Getting ripped to shreds by a massive mutated zombie dog. Breakin their mum's favorite vase. What do I get?" She pointed to her temple. "Bloody algorithms."

"It'll get better." Marla brought her gaze back to her mug, only barely catching the sight of Greta's exasperated expression and Kassim's bubbling chest as he laughed.

"That's hilarious."

Greta continued on about the 'invigorating' styles that were at that moment shocking the world. Marla remained dormant on the surface of the conversation, dropping a nod or "really?" or "amazing" when it felt appropriate. All were aware the discussion was one sided however the morning company was essential to their flattened sanity. The three had had this routine for three months straight. Sit. Coffee. Sort of have a conversation. Voila! Recharged for the day ahead.

The three parted ways without a proper farewell. Such formalities were impractical. Working in lower ranks of the most top secret feature of the Federation had lost it's mystery. Excitement had cleared the way for more comforting never questioned tomorrow. Same place, same time, everyday.

—

Marla took her seat in her office, dubbed 'the converted closet from hell' by Greta. Her monolithic collection of files were piled high against the beige walls, having gotten nowhere when she'd repeatedly asked for shelves. The chair the Federation had so generously provided was, to be kind, lackluster and could swivel just barely five inches from the back wall. She wheeled herself under the table with a groan. Whether the desk was too tall or her chair too short, Marla spent many an evening popping pills for her strained shoulders as she typed continuously.

Section 31 was infamous among those 'fortunate' enough to work there, for the lack of natural lighting. Hours of sitting in a closet of an office with piles of research on the brink of suffocation with a buzzing yellow light overhead could drive anyone mad. Marla had long since busted the damn light and brought in her own trusty green lamp to keep her from complete darkness.

Despite the creeping hours and swift deadlines, she saw nothing especially extraordinary with the work she produced. Outline after outline of culture she formed, each one testing her to dial it back a notch. Her zeal for the subject matter threatened to bleed from the explanations and theories she conceived in her outlines.

Marla slid her left hand across the desk, activating the computer system she still wasn't entirely compatible with. Each week there was a different culture to superficially investigate. Though she felt shadily restrained by the casual information, her deadline seemed to always be fast approaching. Like a locomotive chugging about through a wintery NorEaster, Marla dragged herself from the most interesting facets and ransacked for the particular ingredients that might prove the cultures' 'threatening'"

On any other wednesday, Marla would be devoid of any human interaction until her next break 4 hours in. With the rhythmic tapping of her fingers across her fiberglass keyboard as her only break of silence and the dimness of the closet-reincarnated-as-office, the sudden knock on her door was most unwelcome for her caffeinated nerves.

"Sorry McGivers." The commanding officer in the doorway apologized bowing his dark bald head respectfully.

"Captain Belfare." Marla thrust her body forward out of her seat, causing the chair to knock against the back wall and topple to the tile floor. Belfare was far too concentrated on squinting through the bleakness of the room to notice the poor show.

"Jesus are you trying to go blind?" He quickly turned on a heel and searched the wall for a light switch.

"It's broken sir."

"Well that's annoying." The Captain coughed into his fist and looked back to Marla.

"I'd offer you a seat but…" Her jumpiness settled as Belfare shook his head with a grin and coughed slightly.

"I'd rather stand anyway." Belfare crossed his arms and attempted to clear his throat. He coughed again, more violently this time. "It's like drowning in your own damn spit."

"Lovely image." Marla reached into her desk drawer for a handful of napkins.

"Isn't it just?" Belfare motioned an excuse before proceeding to cough into the napkin painfully. "Anyway." He tossed the soiled napkins into the trash shoot and pressed his hands together. "You doing okay?"

Marla paused. "Um. Yes?"

"Formalities," whispered Belfare with a toothy grin despite his discomfort. Marla nodded, still unsure of what to do with herself stuck behind her desk. She took the liberty of leaning against the wall, despite the presence of her commanding officer. To her relief, Belfare showed no sign of insult.

"What about you?"

"I just hacked a lung in your office, what do you think?"

"That you might be as over worked as I am?" Marla looked her captain over, genuinely concerned. 62 years old Captain Richard Belfare was generously handsome. Complexion the color of smooth dark chocolate, beard of silver and ebony, and a substantial muscular frame. What Belfare lacked in youth he made up for in experience. Experience that cost him his original lungs and the ability to spend more than five minutes without 'drowning in his own spit'. Rumors of his use of a bionic bronchial tube had swirled about for weeks. More often than not Belfare was the sure tell mastermind behind them all. If people want to talk about you, give them something impressive.

"Oh I'm fine." He gave a charming wink. "I'm here on specific orders Dr. McGivers." Her Captain leaned against the doorframe remaining ever casual. "The deadline for your report on Klingon weapon history, or whatever the hell it was you were tinkering with, it's being pushed back."

"Pushed back?" Marla craned out her neck.

"What? Are you almost done?"

"No I'm just surprised. Usually the Admiral wants the work in by the end of the week."

"Well you can rest easy cause you're not alone on this one. Marcus has other priorities for us and the team."

"An away mission?"

"No no you're staying earth bound. Basically I've been asked to put together a list of those under my command I deem worthy of talent, trust, all that upstanding citizen bullshit."

"Doing what exactly?"

"No more exclusively individual work. You will be working with a team of experienced officers from various expertise." Belfare leaned back and picked the callus on his thumb absentmindedly. "Honestly I didn't read the entire message."

"With all due respect sir, I've literally accomplished nothing. I mean yes I do my work but its nothing special. Anyone could do these outlines."

"Apparently someone is impressed."

"Are you giving me a promotion?" Marla wished she could smack the silly grin off her face as it widened to embarrassing proportions.

"He wants me to move you to level 3 McGivers. The real deal."

"I work for Section 31. I thought this was the real deal?" The laugh that erupted from her superior was hearty but painful, causing him to go into a relapse of hacking.

"Do you want a medal or something?"

"A window would be nice." There was a pause. Something flickered across Belfare's gaze, but it came and went so quickly she had no time to decipher it.

"I'll see what I can do."


End file.
